


The Boatman's Ghost

by Carol_Molliniere



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: Children, Gen, Ghosts, also the language is english, and el filibusterismo later on, basically a lot of spoilers for noli me tangere, but there's a bit of filipino and spanish in there too, ghosts AND children, well technically it starts with character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carol_Molliniere/pseuds/Carol_Molliniere
Summary: Elias de la Flores wasn’t a man who was easily overwhelmed. Only twice had he ever been overwhelmed in his life, and well, to be fair, both incidents were of great consequence in this world he lived in. But there was a reason why these had happened only twice; Elias was a quick thinker as well as able to shift the situation to his advantage. And he knew that when he was no longer able to do so, he had to fold his cards and accept his fate.So the second time he had been overwhelmed, it had ended in his death – and he had accepted that with dignity.…But what about that which happened after death?(AU in which Elias is a ghost accompanying a certain boy, and so is Sisa)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I kept my word. The Boatman's Ghost is now available on AO3!
> 
> I didn't change anything too much, so as to keep the spirit (lol) of the work back when I had posted in on Tumblr on 2016. For those who are interested, check out the "the boatman's ghost AU" tag on my Tumblr blog, carol-molliniere!
> 
> Some of the dialogue from the prologue is from the Derbyshire translation.

The sound of a boy crying rang through the dark night.

It resounded like the bells of the nearby church, endless peals that were caused by a shaken source. Another sound – the crunch of grass – followed it, and it grew closer and closer to the distraught child until it was obvious that it meant someone was coming closer to him.

But the boy didn’t know if he should look up. If he were to die tonight at the hands of a stranger, it wouldn’t matter a thing to him anymore. All that mattered was being with his mother, even if only for a while before he could find a way to give her a proper burial.

He calmed his tears, wiping them from his cheeks, and then looked up at the shadowy figure behind him. It was a man, staring down at him silently, perhaps in reverence for the boy’s dead mother. He was holding his stomach, and his face was pained.

“Are you her son?” the man asked, leaning down to the ground. The boy couldn’t say anything, so instead he nodded. When he heard that, the stranger bent down to his knees, and began breathing shallowly. At this, the boy nearly stood up, but assumed that the man might just be exhausted from whatever he was doing earlier.

(And he wouldn’t be wrong, to be honest.)

“What do you expect to do?” the stranger said, gesturing to the dead body of the boy’s mother.

“Why, bury her!” the child answered, almost immediately.

“In the cemetery?”

The boy looked down sadly, and twiddled his fingers together – he wanted that, and his mother deserved it. But the odds were against that. “I haven’t any money, and besides, the curate won’t allow it,” he replied.

“Then?”

The boy put his hand to his chin, and looked up again at the man. “If you would help me–”

“Sorry, but I’m very weak.” the man interrupted, sinking down to support himself on his hands. His breathing was harsher, almost gasping. He coughed, and that was when the boy noticed what was wrong. “I’m wounded. For two days I haven’t eaten or slept. Has no one else come here tonight?”

The boy looked around nervously at his surroundings, wondering how to answer that. While he was thinking about that, the man looked him over, and then sighed deeply. “Listen! I, too, will be dead before the morning comes,” he said in a voice that grew softer and softer. “Twenty paces from here, on the other side of the brook, there is a big pile of firewood. Bring it here, make a pyre, put our bodies upon it, cover them over, and set fire to the whole–” this sentence was cut by a cough, “–until we are reduced to ashes!”

The stranger huffed, not being able to support himself on his hands anymore, and fell to the ground. The boy moved to help him, but he was stopped with a raised hand.

“Afterwards,” the man inhaled deeply, “if no one comes…” he paused again, contemplating something – was he thinking of someone who was supposed to come? – before going on, “…dig here. You will find a lot of gold, and it will all be yours. Take it and go…go to school.”

He coughed more, and the boy wanted to draw closer, but he was still held back; this time, by the man’s sharp character. The man’s voice was hoarse as he said, “Go, get the firewood.” He looked up at the boy. “I want to help you.”

The boy stared down at him, and then glanced behind him at the body of his mother, before deciding that he should follow this stranger’s command and walked away to find the brook.

As the boy left, the stranger – known to many as the fugitive Elias – turned his eyes up to the sky, and then towards the east; from where he knew the sun was going to rise in the morning. Finally, he murmured some words thoughtfully in a hoarse voice:

“I die without seeing the dawn brighten over my native land! You, who have it to see, welcome it – and forget not those who have fallen during the night!”

His head sank to the ground, and he looked at the corpse of the poor boy’s mother. Then his eyes turned to the sky once more, as if giving one last prayer for her soul and his. Then he closed his eyes.

Had he kept them open a few seconds longer, he would have seen a specter appear suddenly over the dead mother’s body, with long flowing hair and a confused look on her face.

Not that he needed to, anyway.

Elias would wake up with the same confusion in Manila much later.


	2. Elias de la Flores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias wakes up in Manila, and tries to make sense of his surroundings - and his new circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the the chapter is my headcanon name for Elias. I didn't mention that the chapters had titles on Tumblr, did I?

Elias de la Flores wasn’t a man who was easily overwhelmed. Only twice had he ever been overwhelmed in his life, and well, to be fair, both incidents were of great consequence in this world he lived in. But there was a reason why these had happened only twice; Elias was a quick thinker as well as able to shift the situation to his advantage. And he knew that when he was no longer able to do so, he had to fold his cards and accept his fate.

So the second time he had been overwhelmed, it had ended in his death – and he had accepted that with dignity.

…But what about that which happened after death?

For a mere day after he had died, Elias de la Flores woke up in a strange place – it was the house of a friend he hadn’t been to in a long time, but empty. Not even a servant was in sight. He looked down, and realized that what he had originally perceived as him standing turned out to be him  _floating_.

_Alright, stay calm. Stay calm and figure out what’s going on._

No matter how he tried, Elias found that his feet couldn’t touch the ground. So, figuring that he should just levitate, he flew around the house, trying to investigate what was happening and why he was flying and why his skin was paper-white–

_No. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be right._

_I’m dreaming. This is all a strange dream, and any minute now I’ll wake up–_

– _but I’m dead. My God, am I not dead?_

Elias turned a corner and sped up a staircase, trying to sense a rapid heartbeat and finding none. In fact, he realized that he wasn’t even breathing. He clenched his fists together, and braced himself for the final test: flying right through a closed door, which he did.

The boatman then had no other choice but to come to the long-denied conclusion: that he was, for some reason, a  _multo_ ; a spirit of the dead that had been bonded to the land of the living.

But Elias had to wonder: why then was he stuck here? He had done his duty. He had saved Crisostomo Ibarra (more times than he had ever done for any other person), and he clearly remembered the pain of the gunshots that would make him bleed to death. He had nothing else to live for or lose (save maybe the maiden Salome, but she must have arrived in Mindoro by now and forgotten all about him – he hoped). And he had accepted death, for it was not the end.

Yet much to his confusion, it really  _wasn’t_  the end.

Elias mulled over it for a while before he realized that there were other presences in the house. He turned towards the door that he had just phased through, before passing through it again. He guessed that if there was another person around, he could test if he could be seen or not.

He descended through the second floor, and found himself in the living room – face-to-face with a child.

The child stared up at him for about two moments, before he let out a terrified scream.

“W-wait–!” Elias was about to say something, but it escaped his mind as the boy turned around and ran towards the kitchen. He guessed that if he had any lungs, he would have sighed.

_Wait, I recognize that boy!_

“ _Nanay_!  _Nanay_!” the boy shouted, sticking his head into the kitchen. “ _Nanay_? Where are you? There’s a  _multo_!”

Elias followed after the boy to the kitchen, looking inside the room and finding only the chef there, asking the boy what had happened.

“There’s a  _multo_! A  _multo_ –” the boy turned to the doorway for only a second, and when he saw Elias there, he paled, “–r-right there!”

“What are you talking about?” the chef asked, turning back to cutting up some garlic cloves. “I do not see anything.”

“No, there!” The boy pointed up at the doorway, right at Elias. The chef sighed, put down the knife, and looked over his shoulder – but he didn’t give any reaction indicating fear or at least shock. Noticing this, the child became more frantic. “Do you see it?”

The chef shook his head and went back to his cooking. “No, I do not see it, Aning,” he shook his head. “There are no  _multos_. Do not fret.”

“But…” The boy, now known as Aning, glanced at the doorway again – yet Elias had floated up through the ceiling, guessing that he shouldn’t be any cause for fright to a child in this house. Aning stared at the empty space before him, and scratched his head in confusion.

Elias looked around the second floor again, floating through the rooms, looking for any other human beings and finding only a female helper (and she had passed right through him; she probably didn’t see him either). The child’s parents were nowhere to be seen.

And neither was one other person that he was looking for.

_Had he left already?_

He looked out the window, and found the streets outside shrouded in the nighttime darkness. A  _gwardiya sibil_  was strolling down the streets, whistling a tune; but other than that, no one else was to be seen.

Elias figured that this was because of the recent scare of a revolt in San Diego. People were still afraid that a subversive and his fellows would rise out in the streets, proclaim a revolution, and cause gunshots to ring out. He couldn’t blame them – mothers were afraid their sons would get into trouble and be put to death, and fathers were afraid their daughters would be endangered in the confusion. He stared out for a little while, before putting his legs onto the ledge, and then flying out the window.

Yes, now at least his settings were clear. He had woken up inside the house of his friend Señor Acda. His friend wasn’t inside the house, and neither was his wife. Their son, on the other hand – he was currently walking around the house, looking for the specter that was levitating over the roof of the house.

Where were the boy’s parents, anyway? Elias knew Señora Acda to be quite the doting mother, never one to stay away from the home for too long, especially now that her son was about to begin his schooling. And very rarely was his friend out after dark.

He put a hand to his chin, thinking about what he should do next. Then he stretched out his arm, and looked through it.

_None of this makes any sense right now._

Elias straightened up, and then flew upward. Maybe he could get a clear idea of what he was supposed to do if he left. He flew higher, towards the sky–

–but suddenly, something like threads tied around his heart were pulled taut, and he was stopped from going any further. His legs swung up in the air ahead of him, and he tried to propel himself upwards once more, but he wouldn’t budge.

_What?_

He descended to the ground around the house, and tried to move forward, yet the imaginary string around his heart just wouldn’t let him float away from the house. In frustration, Elias soon found himself flying in circles around the Acdas’ home, wondering what to do now.

He flew back up to the window that he had flown out of first, and sat on the ledge. From there, he could hear the voice of Aning playing with his toys, laughing in half-hearted delight. Elias rested his chin in his hands, and his eyes darted towards the boy inside the warm house.

“There’d better be no  _multos_ ,” Aning said to himself, almost in discontent. “I swear, I saw him.” He picked up a top, and wrapped a string around it before resting its point on the ground and sharply pulling the string back. The top rotated before him, and he sat down and watched it for a few seconds before it began to slow down and then roll on the ground before stopping completely.

He wrapped the string around the top again, and Elias shifted in his seat. Staring at his friend’s son, Elias then admitted that he was at a total loss at what to do now. There wasn’t much use in staying in this house, where neither father nor mother were present – but then why was he stuck here, as if held back by intangible chains?

Aning spun the top two more times, each time trying to get it to go faster, and then he stopped – apparently bored. He picked up the top, and then walked out into the hallway to his room. There Elias lost sight of him, and it was then that he floated back down outside the house, right outside the front door.

Maybe he could just wait here and see if Señor and/or Señora Acda would come back. And more importantly, if they could see him and tell him what in the name of their God was going on.

He closed his eyes, and lowered himself to the ground, briefly wondering if  _multos_ like him could sleep. At least he was invisible; that way, no one would harass him about staying here.

_But then again, no one will tell me what I’m even doing here in the first place._

He shifted his position so that he was lying on his back now.

_Crisostomo Ibarra must be on his way to Europe, even as I am here, unable to escape._

And he was content with that tonight.


	3. Aning Acda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias finally gets to introduce himself properly to the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember back in 2016, I had a lot of fun when people found out who the boy was. I hope you new readers enjoy the revelation!
> 
> This story contains a theory that appears in El Filibusterismo. In the second or third chapter, I think?

The next morning, the staff learned what had become of the boy’s father.

“I went out to inquire,” the chef said to the maid as he entered the house. “Ay! The news is that Señor Acda has been killed by a  _tulisan_  for his money. It seems that this happened right after he had helped Ibarra escape to Europe.”

“Do you think it is an act of God’s justice? He had helped a man who took part in a revolt, after all,” the maid said.

“But the friend of Señor Acda, Elias,  had told him to do that. The man might be innocent!” The chef then went on, “This may just mean that God is cruel to the natives of this country.”

“And what of the boy’s mother?” The maid’s brow creased. “Does she think that she can abandon her boy like that?  _Dios mio_ , what will we do?”

Elias also saw that this and many such conversations such as that didn’t go completely unheard by their ward, who occupied himself by playing with mud outside and spinning his tops. Sometimes he would take pamphlets that his parents had no doubt gotten from the friars, and draw silly images on them using a pencil.

(Luckily for Aning, the pamphlets were on topics that his father considered ridiculous, so Elias didn’t think his parents would be too bothered by this.)

Meanwhile, Elias spent the morning inside the house, out of Aning’s sight – goodness knew he needed less things to bother him at such a time. The poor boy seemed like he needed some company other than the servants, but there was nothing the pilot could do about it; there didn’t seem to be much he could do that would assure the boy he meant no harm.

Though he knew for the duration of this day he wasn’t completely unseen; Aning had come close to finding where the  _multo_  was situated at least twice in the day. The boy probably really was intent on finding him.

_What will become of the child?_

_Where is his mother?_

That night, instead of sleeping outside the house, Elias wandered into the house, and floated for a moment above the boy.

_He knows his father is dead.  
_

 

* * *

 

The next morning, they finally heard the fate of Aning’s mother. Her body was found abandoned by the Pasig River. It looked as if she was raped.

Of course, neither the chef nor the maid told Aning that detail, but he heard anyway. And the news that he was now an orphan crushed him.

Elias watched in silence.

 

* * *

 

“Aning! Come play with us!”

“I don’t want to,” Aning said to the children there, resting his chin in his hands. His eyes darted back to inside the house, where the visitors all dressed in black were gathering together, to either talk about their lives or share their grief for the two laid in the coffins. But the boy was outside – he didn’t want to stay in a room full of adults who weren’t his parents.

Looking at Aning’s own black clothing, the kids nodded. “Alright, then. Just tell us when you can play again!”

As they ran back to their game, Elias floated down to the ground, behind Aning in the shade. He had figured out a long time ago that light had a painful effect on him, and so he stayed where it couldn’t affect him. He stared a long time at the back of Aning’s head, before the boy turned around and they came face-to-face.

“…The  _multo_ ,” Aning whispered, almost in fright, before running back into the safety of the house.

Elias heard some sounds of conversation, muffled by the walls, before footsteps trotted back outside. Aning had now brought back with him a priest, who looked over the empty space at which the boy was pointing at.

“You’re a priest, right,  _Tio_  Florentino?” Aning cried out. “Don’t you see him?”

Florentino glanced around, then gave the boy a worried look. “Aning, there’s no such thing as ghosts,” he said. “I know you miss your father a lot, but–”

“That’s not my father; I never said it was.” Aning retorted, and a hand from one of his aunts reached down to pinch him.

“Don’t answer back to your elders,” she chided him. “And besides, you might want to get along with him now. You’re going to be staying with him instead of in this house.”

“What?” Aning looked up at her in disbelief. Then he turned to Padre Florentino, who heaved a heavy breath.

The boy glanced at all the adults who had come to see the scene, and then blurted out, “I lost my parents, and now you’re going to make me leave the house too?!”

“Aning!” The aunt from before reached to pinch him again, but the boy was already running back into the house, past the bodies sitting in the living room and the other visitors still inside, and up the staircase to his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

Elias found the boy in his room, covering his face with a pillow.

He floated inside, and sat by the window ledge. A cold breeze worthy of Baguio came with his presence, but Aning didn’t even look up. Elias just waited for him to do something.

Finally, Aning removed his face from the tear-streaked pillow, and he wiped his red nose. He blinked, and then looked up with shock at the  _multo_  at his window.

They stared at each other for a little while, Aning in fear and Elias in concern, before the child finally decided to speak.

“…Are you here to kill me?”

Elias wasn’t particularly surprised to hear that question. He shook his head.

Aning looked down at the wet pillow, which he had tossed down to the bed, and was now lying wrinkly and flat. He gulped, and then plaintively looked back to Elias.

“My parents are dead, too,” he said, a little quietly. “Did you see them?”

Again Elias shook his head no, unsure how to deal with the child now that they were face-to-face. For all that he had done in life, the pilot had never had anything to do with children; he was content with letting his few friends raise their own. They didn’t have to worry about the misfortunes that he did. And whenever he came to this house in particular, Señora Acda would always make sure that Aning stayed out of their way.

So what he was to do now was beyond him.

It was fortunate for him that Aning decided to make the first move once again.

“Do you think my parents are like you too?” he asked.

“I cannot say for sure,” Elias finally replied. “If all the dead were like me…it must be a very sad experience.”

Aning gulped again, but held his ground. “Are you sad?” he queried.

“It is fine,” Elias said. “I have nothing to worry about now.” Save for the glory and welfare of his country, anyway. But what could he do now about it? Everyone he knew thought that he was dead. And they would be correct, but at the same time incorrect, in a way.

Aning looked down at his black clothes, and leaned his head on the pillow on his bed. They were both locked in a heavy silence yet again, with neither unsure how to proceed.

Then the boy turned his eyes up to the  _multo_  once more.

“What’s your name?”

“…Elias,” the  _multo_  decided to say.

Aning blinked, and said slowly, as if he were introducing himself to an adult relative on a normal day. “…My name is Isagani Acda…y…Florentino.”

“Isagani,” Elias repeated, trying to use a tone softer than before. He dared to come closer to the child, and a cold breeze drifted through the room. Aning shivered and backed away from Elias, making the  _multo_  stop in his tracks.

Aning was quiet, grabbing the pillow and hugging it tight. He didn’t know what to say, and honestly, neither did Elias. But he tried to open his mouth anyway, and then shut it, before crossing his arms.

“…Are you here to make me come back downstairs, then?” Aning asked. “Because I don’t want to.”

“No, I know why,” Elias said, floating lower, “but you need to pay your respects to your parents. And your relatives – it might not sound like it, but they know you’re going through something children shouldn’t have to.”

“No,” Aning wiped the tears from his eyes, “but why?”

Elias sighed. “Listen, I do not know about these things any more than what you know. Save for that you have to trust God to carry you through this trial, and many other trials to come.”

Aning sniffled, and tilted his head. “…What’s a ‘trial’?” he asked.

The  _multo_  found the corners of his mouth threatening to move upwards.

Aning went back downstairs after a while, and many of the grown-ups were conscientious enough to not rebuke him for his errant behavior. The boy got off with only a pinch from his stern aunt and a worried expression from Padre Florentino. Elias couldn’t help but notice, though, that Aning was very quiet.


	4. Narcisa Cojuangco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We move back to the woods, where Sisa wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title is another one of my headcanon names. The headcanon names will crop up a lot, I think.
> 
> Here begins the second thread of the story!

But now let us move back to the woods where Elias and a poor woman met their end.

This woman, Sisa Cojuangco, had lost her sons Basilio and Crispin months before and had been driven to insanity as a result. She wandered around the town of San Diego and the forests, singing outside windows and talking to the animals. Until, after much hunger, fatigue, and maltreatment, she collapsed in her son’s arms – dead.

Actually, not quite.

She woke up in the woods, above Elias’s body, wondering what had just happened.

_Everything had gone black before…what happened?_

Sisa glanced around, and heard footsteps coming towards the scene. Sisa flinched, and was prepared to run away when she saw the face of the man walking up to their dead bodies now.

_Isn’t that…_  She squinted.  _…Ibarra? The man who promised to help me find my sons?_

She came closer, and only then did she realize that her feet weren’t touching the ground. Sisa looked down. Her body was glowing white. She straightened up, and grabbed at her hands. She could touch them, and yet… _what’s going on?_

_What’s going on?_

In front of her, Ibarra gasped when he saw the body of the man below her. He ran over to the body, threw himself upon it, and wept like a child.

“My God!” he cried. “This can’t be! This can’t be!”

Sisa tried to take a step backwards, but when she looked down she found herself treading on air. She ought to feel dizzy by now – and why wasn’t she?

The answer to that lay behind her, and she only had to turn around to see it.

It was her lifeless body.

She put a hand over her mouth, but she didn’t gasp. No, she couldn’t breathe at all. She wasn’t even breathing now.

Her hand went down to her heart, but her heart wasn’t beating.

_Basilio._

She looked around.

_Where’s Basilio?_

_Where’s my baby?_

Suddenly, from all around her sounded a great resounding laughter. Sisa looked up, and could only see the leaves of the  _balete_  tree above her. But when she looked at the  _balete_  tree, she could see various creatures of all shapes and sizes gathered there, sneering at her. Their peals of laughter rang in her ears, and she covered them with her hands, to no avail.

She felt faint.

Why didn’t she just faint?

The man continued to weep over the unknown corpse beside hers, but Sisa could no longer hear his agony or his tears. She could only hear the ghastly figures in front of her, and she clamped her hands over her ears.

She wanted to scream.

Footsteps crunched in the ground in front of Sisa and the anguished man. It was the light, awkward step of a boy who had a limp, and as the mourner looked up he could see that this boy was carrying a large bundle of wood.

The voices in the forest hushed at the appearance of the boy. Upon hearing that these frightening figures had done so, Sisa dared to open her eyes, and look up at the newcomer.

At last, it was her son, Basilio!

Sisa’s mouth fell open, and suddenly the other creatures spoke to each other in another language, in tones that belied  _danger, danger, danger,_  but Sisa didn’t care. Not as long as her baby was here.

Her son looked to the mourner, pausing in his tracks. The mourner stared right back, and Basilio put the wood down.

“I-I’m sorry,” Basilio began to say. “I don’t know what’s going on, I don't–”

“No, no,” the mourner said, in a strangely calm ( _cold_ ) voice. “What are you going to do?”

“The dead man told me…” Basilio gulped, and took a deep breath, “…he told me to build a funeral pyre, but I am not sure how…”

The mourner stood up slowly, looked down at the boy, and then at the two corpses at their feet. His eyes moved slowly from the dead man to the dead woman ( _her_ ).

“Is she your mother?” the mourner asked, gesturing to the dead woman.

Basilio nodded.

“Well, let us make a pyre…for the man,” the mourner said, “and then we will bury your mother in the ground, below this tree, so you can visit her.”

Basilio was in no mood to argue (and Sisa knew that look on his face), so together the mourner and her son assembled a small pyre using the firewood that Basilio had collected. Sisa floated over them, watching them carefully.

As Basilio handed a piece of wood to the older man, he glanced up, and saw the ghost of his mother just a few feet above him. Sisa couldn’t help but stare back, unsure of what to do next.

Should she hold him? Should she kiss him? Should she speak to him? Should she also let the older man know that she was there at all? The older man didn’t even seem to notice her.

But Basilio noticed her.

And by God, that was enough for her.

That was enough.

The older man shivered, and looked to the river. He pursed his lips, and muttered something to himself about the chill in the early morning air.

Sisa lowered herself, and Basilio took a step forward.

“… _Nay_?” Basilio asked, in the quietest of tones.

“Basilio, my dear,” Sisa managed to say.

By now the older man had looked up at them – or rather, to Basilio – and saw him looking up to the sky.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and Basilio turned quickly back to the wood in front of him. “N-nothing…” he said.

Sisa shrank back a bit. Perhaps her son had not seen her? Or had he, but dismissed it anyway as a trick of the mind? Her son was wont to do that, after all. Like her, he had never truly believed in the supernatural, no matter how many horrific tales the neighbors had fed him about the  _aswang_.

The otherworldy noises came back to the forefront of Sisa’s consciousness, grating on her ears and making her look around in fear. She looked around and saw the figures in the  _balete_  tree talking to each other, almost excitedly. She shrank back, and looked down at her son–

–miracle of miracles, he was looking right at her again!

She had to make sure he had seen her, though, so she put a finger to her lips, watching him. Basilio repeated the gesture, as if telling her slowly that this was their little secret.

Was it?

He looked towards the older man, and helped with arranging the wood once more. Sisa floated closer, and tried to breathe, but couldn’t.

The noises were muted now. But only for now.


	5. Basilio Reyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sisa is left alone with her son for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why Basilio and Sisa have different headcanon surnames, it's because Reyes is Pedro's last name, while Cojuangco is Sisa's maiden name. Believe me, Basilio would take Sisa's name in a heartbeat if he could.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

The man’s body went to the fire, and the woman’s body went to the ground.

Sisa watched her son witness these burials, unsure of how to console him. He had gone through so much in just these two months; he had now lost all of his family. Basilio didn’t look like he was going to cry, though. He just had the blankest look on his face, as if he was having trouble processing what just happened to him.

Once all this was done, the stranger –  _Ibarra_  – put his hand in his coat pocket, and wrung out a handful of coins. He then gave this to the boy, who extended his hands to the man and accepted them.

“Live,” was all that Ibarra told Basilio. And just like that, Ibarra turned on his heel and walked towards the woods, now bathed in the morning daylight.

Basilio looked down at the coins in his hands dumbly, and then turned his head up towards his mother – rather, the ghost of his mother.

“Basilio?” she asked.

“ ‘Nay,” Basilio said, offering the coins up to her. She drew her hands closer to herself instead of towards him; how could she accept what he was giving her? She stared at him for some time, with all the world’s love in her eyes.

Then she flew down, and threw her arms around him.

The embrace was frigid, not befitting of the warm climate of San Diego, and Basilio was taken by surprise. He dropped the coins to the ground.

“…'Nay, you’re cold,” Basilio said, trying to hug her back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sisa said, pulling back from the embrace and looking her son over. She stared at him for a little while, before moving her hand to brush away a lock of his hair from his face.

“I thought you were gone.” Basilio’s voice began to break.

Sisa felt like sighing, even though she couldn’t. “I would never leave you like that,” she said. Then she ruffled her son’s hair.

“So where do we go now?” Basilio asked, turning towards the  _balete_ tree.

Sisa looked at the tree as well, and saw it devoid of the spirits that had looked so sinister to her in the early hours of the morning. Then she looked at her son, and lowered herself to pick up the coins that Basilio had dropped on the ground.

She carefully picked up each one, before presenting the handful to her son.

“Wherever you think is best,” she said.

 

* * *

 

That led Basilio to walk through the streets of San Diego, with Sisa following closely behind in the shadows of the houses. They had soon learned that Sisa was unable to move in the daylight, for if she even touched a ray of light, she would suffer pain.

So Basilio and Sisa crossed this way and that, trying to stay out of the way of everyone else in the process. Every now and then they would bump into someone, but Basilio guessed that people had forgotten who he was by now, and like Ibarra, they did not see the  _multo_  traveling with him.

“Alright, 'Nay, we’re almost at the edge of town,” Basilio said. He darted through a few trees, with Sisa following close by. “We’re almost there.”

Sisa didn’t say a word, though her heart was brimming with joy at the thought of coming with her son to Manila, albeit not in the way she was expecting. She would actually be able to watch over him as he grew, as he studied, as he  _lived_.

She followed him to the exit of San Diego, before they halted right there.

Basilio stared at the empty road in front of them, and Sisa knew that her son was contemplating what lay ahead for them. She floated as close as she could – he was standing under the sun – and leaned down.

“Son,” she said, and Basilio looked up at her.

He didn’t say anything, though. He just stared up with the eyes that he had gotten from her, and waited for her to talk.

Sisa pursed her lips, but after a moment, she finally talked.

“You have nothing to be afraid of.” She clasped her hands together. “I believe that we can make it together.”

Basilio watched her a little longer. Then he mustered a small smile.

 

* * *

 

Never in her wildest dreams did Basilio think that he would be able to go to Manila – Manila, the city of the rich and their rich dreams, of the  _mestizos_  without any room for the poor  _indio_.

And yet here he was, escaping San Diego with the  _multo_  of his mother, and their destination was that wonderful city.

Yet he couldn’t help but think about how ridiculous this all sounded. Going to Manila with the  _multo_  of his mother? That sounded like one of those fantastic fairy tales that other mothers told their children. This, in fact, seemed so unreal.

How sure was he that this ghost was really his mother’s, anyway? Or how sure was he that this wasn’t just a crazy dream or a big joke he was living?

His mother couldn’t be dead, right? It had to be a joke.

And yet…she was floating, and passing through him, and giving him chills. Granted, it was the middle of December, but still.

With the  _multo_  hovering right over his head, it was hard for the ten year-old to not be curious about the circumstances surrounding him right now.

Of course, that could be a question to be saved for later.

Right now, his mother was here.


	6. The New Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aning leaves, but Elias stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carromata - a carriage larger than the kalesa (?) I heard it somewhere.

The trip to Padre Florentino’s house in the province would be a long one, Aning was told. So the little boy was left to pack his things under the watchful eyes of the household staff, who would be relieved of their duties the moment he left the house. An aunt had come to watch over him while this was all happening – fortunately for Aning, it wasn’t the aunt that kept pinching him throughout his parents’ funeral. So this was the arrangement for the boy until he could go to his uncle’s home.

Of course, this was overlooking the  _multo_  that resided at the house of Aning’s parents. Elias had been trying his best to fill in the gaps of closeness that Aning’s aunt couldn’t provide. At first Aning found this unusual for a  _multo_  to do – he was told by his mother that all  _multos_  wanted nothing more than vengeance on this earth – but Aning’s mother wasn’t here anymore, and besides, Elias was quite friendly.

So when the day came for Aning to leave in a shabby-looking  _carromata_ , he had wandered off to the back to say goodbye to his acquaintance.

“Be strong, Isagani,” Elias said, floating under the shade of a  _narra_  tree growing in the Acdas’ backyard. “Don’t forget what your mother and father have done for you.”

“I know,” Aning said. “I know, I’ll be a good boy, for them.”

Elias bent down, and put a hand on Aning’s head. Aning had been standing in the sunlight, and so Elias’s hand burned red-hot once it was under the sun’s glare. At the same time, Aning’s head was suddenly pulled into an ice-cold touch, and he shivered.

The pilot immediately pulled his hand back, and he and Aning stared at each other awkwardly for a moment before Aning waved a hand, and then ran back around the house to join his aunt in the  _carromata._

Elias watched Aning leave, and then looked back to the house of his old friend. It was now left desolate, without owner, waiting for someone else to claim it as their own. He remembered the times that he had visited this place, and what a difference it was from now!

He then flew under the shadows of the trees to the shade of the house, under its roof, and looked at the road. He couldn’t spot Aning’s carriage anymore.

He sighed.  _So what do I do now? Do I stay?_

_What’s left for me if I stay?_

_If only I could leave, too._

No sooner had he thought this, however, did an invisible string pull on his heart, and he gasped as it began to pull him towards the road.

_What in the…?!_

Elias soon found himself in the sunlight, and he only had time to look back at the Acdas’ old house before the blinding, burning pain took over him. He screamed, and the burning continued for a little while longer before he passed out and let himself be dragged by the invisible string.

 

* * *

 

When Elias came to – he had thought he died for the second time, only to be proven wrong the second time – he was in the middle of a dirt road, with the sound of clacking horseshoes and rotating wheels ringing in his ears. He blinked, and looked up at the sky – the sun had already set – then looked down at his feet, before he realized he was still being dragged by the invisible string.

He finally gained control of himself, and lifted himself up so that he was in a standing – or rather, levitating position. Then he turned around to see a carriage in front of him. It seemed to be the source of the invisible string that was dragging him along.

Elias pursed his lips. Could he be haunting a  _carromata_  this time? That, admittedly, sounded silly. And yet, it seemed to be the only viable option. First, Señor Acda’s house, and then a carriage. The universe was making less and less sense to Elias by now.

He floated over to the  _carromata_ , and looked at the passengers.

And to his surprise, he found Aning Acda and his aunt sitting inside the carrriage.

“…Aning?” Elias asked, to himself.

Aning turned his head in Elias’s direction, but Elias moved away to avoid being seen. Aning meanwhile stared for a few seconds, before his aunt looked to him.

“Isagani? What are you staring at?” she asked.

“N-nothing,  _Tia_ ,” he said, his eyes darting down to his feet.

Elias moved to rest himself on the top of the carriage, and sighed. He wished he could talk to Aning, but Aning’s aunt might think the child insane (or worse, demon-possessed) for talking to something that wasn’t there.

Well, he consoled himself, at least there was something familiar in this carriage that he could stay with before he was headed to his next destination. And where that was, he couldn’t say that he knew.

He didn’t know anything anymore.

 

* * *

 

Aning’s carriage came to stop at the  _nipa_  hut of a relative at the side of the road as the stars began to litter the dark sky. Aning got off the carriage, and then gave Elias a glance. Elias returned the glance, quite unsure what to say to the boy. Aning stared a little longer before his aunt tugged at his sleeve and ushered the boy into the nipa hut. Meanwhile, the  _cochero_  began to let his horse feed on the grasses that surrounded the hut.

Elias guessed that he should just stay here, until the trip begins over. At least he would be able to make sure that Aning had a safe trip now.

 

* * *

 

And so it was for a good week before Aning and his aunt reached Padre Florentino’s house.

Aning could no longer resist the urge to stare over his shoulder at the ghost following them around every night, so Elias made it a point to stay close to the edge where the boy was sitting. As for the daylight, Aning had welcomed Elias under the shade of the carriage’s roof, so he didn’t burn up and lose consciousness like he did the first time. (Yes, all was fine and well as long as Aning remembered not to talk to Elias while his aunt and the driver were in the  _carromata_.)

Soon enough, the day came when they finally made it to Florentino. The priest had come straight back from Mass on that day, and there were a few women still coming to him to give his hand a kiss. Elias caught the smile on Florentino’s face – it was without a trace of arrogance.

Florentino saw the carriage pull up to his home, and he steadied himself once he saw the child inside. Elias then watched as Aning’s aunt came out, followed by the boy himself. Aning looked plaintively at his uncle first, but when he saw the house, he gasped.

It was no secret that Florentino came from a wealthy bloodline – if the house was any indication. The stone house was more stately than the Acdas’ home, though not as grand as the houses of the rich that Elias had known in Manila. The windows and walls had been cleaned so that they were now spotless, and the yellow shade of the house seemed to greet the newcomers with an air of joy. As if this display wasn’t enough, the stone house was perched on a ledge overlooking the sea, separated from the edge only by a wooden fence that had seen better days.

It was Aning’s home now, and it was beautiful enough.

The little boy turned his head here and there as he walked closer to his uncle, trying to soak in so much of the place as fast as he could, and it wasn’t until his aunt pinched him that he was reminded of his uncle standing right in front of him. He gave a kiss to his uncle’s hand, and Florentino said in reply, “ _Kaawaan ka ng Diyos_.”

The driver unloaded Aning’s belongings from the carriage, and like a good boy Aning took as much as he could and carried it into the house with him. His aunt began to chat with Florentino about the long journey, and all Florentino could do was nod his head when she complained. Elias turned to see Aning go inside.

So this was where the boy was going now. And this would be where Elias left him.

For some strange reason, the thought filled Elias with a certain feeling – one that he hadn’t felt since the loss of his sister.

Was it…longing for his family?

Elias shook his head, and flew inside.

Either way, he knew the boy would like to have one last word with him.

When Elias came in, Aning was looking up at the staircase of the house, as if contemplating the rooms where he would live now. He took one step onto the stairs, but then felt a familiar chill in the air, and turned around to see his friend.

“Elias!” Aning said. “This house…it doesn’t feel like home…but it is pretty, isn’t it?”

Elias floated over to Aning, and bent down. “This house will feel like your home soon enough, Aning. You’re lucky that you were sent to live with your uncle, you know.”

“Yes, that’s what everyone else tells me,” Aning grumbled, then blushed as he realized who he was talking to. “I-I mean – you’re not ‘everyone else’, Elias!” he said. “I just mean–”

“I know what you mean,” Elias replied. “But sometimes, you must consider what 'everyone else’ says about you. Especially if it is dangerous.”

“…Why would it be dangerous?” Aning asked.

That innocent look on Aning’s face; it reminded Elias of a girl with his eyes who smiled and sang silly songs, and a young man who conversed with him on a boat drifting lazily along the river.

“You will find out, when you’re older,” Elias opted to tell him, and was about to say more when one of the servants came and told Aning he would help with his belongings. Aning followed him up the stairs, and Elias stared after him, feeling that this would be the last time he would see Aning.

He drifted outside, into the glare of the burning sunlight for only a second before settling into the  _carromata_  that was to be his new home now. The aunt climbed inside, and Elias took one last, long look at the house. Then the driver snapped the reins, and the horse took the carriage away.

Elias sat down on the floor of the carriage, and he wished he could sigh. Where would he go from here? It was so much easier when he was alive, when he could decide where he needed to stay and where he needed to go. He wasn’t sure if he could accept this existence, where he was unable to affect the people around him, save for a young boy that he was now leaving.

The poor boy, Aning…what would become of him?

One more pang of longing came–

–and then the tugging of the strings around his heart returned.

Elias felt himself pass through the walls of the carriage, being dragged out into the sun, which blinded him and burned him, and he flew as fast as he could to the limited shade of the trees – limited shade hurt less than this – before realizing he wasn’t only being bound, he was being pulled yet again.

It was a slower tug this time, and it led Elias back to the house of Padre Florentino, where the tugging stopped. Elias flew around the house, trying to gather his thoughts – what was he doing here this time? – before he came to a conclusion.

There was only one thing that the carriage pulling him and the house pulling him had in common.

Elias flew outside, to the speckled shade of the trees yet again, to see Aning standing outside by the broken wooden fence, with his uncle Florentino. The two of them were staring at the open expanse of the blue sea, sparkling in the sunlight.

Aning’s innocent eyes were sparkling too, and Elias felt that maybe this existence of being tied to this little boy wasn’t so bad after all.

Because whatever became of him…Elias wanted to see it.


	7. The Mystery of Florentino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since Padre Florentino took Aning in, people began looking at him funny. Apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for now. But don't worry! I might come around to updating the story again one day. I hope you're all still around to see it by then!

Padre Florentino was a quiet, unassuming man who did nothing but good.

At least, that was what the neighbors thought of him. After all, what else was one to think of a priest that lived on his own by the sea with only a few helpers? He did his duties to the people well – even if he wasn’t a Spanish priest, he was the most reliable and most well-meaning man anyone could find in this province.

Yes, all the neighbors had quite a good impression of Padre Florentino.

That is, until the boy named Isagani Acda came to live in his house.

On the first Sunday they spent at Florentino’s house, Elias had noticed the stares of the people coming in to church. He knew what they were paying close attention to: Florentino’s ward, the boy standing next to him as they walked into the church.

Florentino looked a little uneasy; obviously, people had never stared like this before. A few women still came to kiss his hand respectfully, and when they did, they asked who the boy was.

“His name is Isagani Acda y Florentino,” Florentino always told them. “He’s the son of my cousin, who passed away.”

And they would nod and flutter their fans by their faces, leading their own children away by the hand.

Aning, on the other hand, knew there was a bit of suspicion in the eyes of the people watching him and his uncle. He clutched at Florentino’s robes, and Florentino let him. All the while, Aning tried to keep his eyes on Elias, who was floating overhead.

Elias kept an eye on everyone who was staring at the priest and the boy. He crossed his arms – he didn’t like this scene in front of him. But he didn’t say anything to Aning; the pressure was enough as it was.

If Padre Florentino knew about the stares, he didn’t say anything as well. He simply walked over to the front row of pews, and watched Aning seat himself.

“Alright, Isagani,” Padre Florentino said to Aning.

“Yes,  _Tio_?” Aning said, shifting himself on the pew.

“Stay here, where I can see you,” Florentino told him. “I don’t want you to get lost in this church.”

“Alright,” Aning said, looking up at the roof, high above him, and at the images of the Virgin Mary and the saints on the walls. Florentino smiled, and patted Aning’s shoulder.

“Don’t play around,” he reminded him. And with that, Florentino went to join the sacristan standing nearby in preparing for the mass.

Aning watched him leave, and then turned to Elias, who was still nearby.

“This doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, does it?” Aning asked, and tilted his head towards the image of Jesus on the cross.

“No.” Elias shook his head. “If it did, I would not be able to even enter the church. Why?” Elias already knew the answer to that question; he just needed the confirmation from the boy.

“Nothing; the maid just told me that the monsters of the night can’t stand to look upon God,” Aning said.

“Well, I don’t look like a monster, do I?” Elias tried to joke, and Aning grinned.

Aning swung his legs over the seat, keeping himself quiet, maybe out of respect for the structure he was inside. Elias looked towards the back door and remembered how he always used to stand in the back, away from the crowd where he did not belong. He tried to inhale, but couldn’t – he had forgotten in that moment that he didn’t breathe anymore. He pursed his lips, and then looked back down at Aning.

Aning’s bright face…it reminded him of the Sundays he spent in the Mass as a child. The way he used to tap his fingers on the wood of the pew, and his grandfather would sternly tell him to stop, the way he kneeled down and found himself a bit too small to see over the pew in front of him, and the way he would look across the aisle to meet  _her_  eyes…

…Elias remembered it all. And he felt a twinge in his heart.

Several bells rang, and everyone in the assembly stood up as the Mass began.

 

* * *

 

All throughout the Mass, Elias felt that he was not the only one watching Aning.

Of course, Padre Florentino’s eyes could not help but glance down at the boy every now and then. The poor man had been filled with worry upon worry ever since Aning had come to live there. How to raise a child single-handedly, how to make sure this boy’s needs were met when the time arose – Elias had been witness to an hour in the middle of the night when Padre Florentino was praying for guidance.

Aside from Florentino, though, there were the women sitting at the front across the aisle from them, also throwing looks at Aning from behind their fans and clasped hands. The pilot didn’t like how it was going at all.

Aning seemed to have noticed it, too – by the time the Mass was over and Padre Florentino came for Aning, the boy made a beeline for him. He took Florentino’s hand, and together they began to walk back to the house.

If Florentino noticed that fewer people came to kiss his hand than before the Mass began, he didn’t mention it.

 

* * *

 

“Elias, why did people keep looking at me?”

Aning was watching his top spin on the wooden floor of the house. Elias floated nearby, watching the sea sparkle in the sunlight by the window.

“Aning,” Elias said as he turned towards the boy, “don’t be concerned with those people who stare at you. There is little on their minds other than the business of others, seeing as they have little to do themselves.”

“But why do they look at me like that?” Aning asked.

Elias pressed his lips together. There was only one reason he could think of that would explain why those people would stare at a child who stood next to a priest, and whose guardian was said priest.

“Isagani?”

Aning and Elias turned round to see one of Florentino’s servants standing in the doorway, a puzzled look on his face.

“I could have sworn…were you talking to someone, Isagani?” he asked.

“No,” Aning lied. “Is lunch ready?”

“Yes, that is why your uncle told me to come to your room to tell you,” the servant said.

“Alright then.” Aning got up from the floor. Elias followed after him, and saw the servant shiver as he did so.

Aning passed a large room with a small library, large armchairs, and a  _camagong_ bed. Both Elias and Aning had been in this house long enough now to know that this was Padre Florentino’s room, though Aning did not know that Elias had wandered into this room two times already. For how much it had reminded him of just a month ago, back when he was still alive and ready to fight for his country!

He had even plucked a few books off the shelves to read; and he recognized some of the editions as the same ones on the shelves of that young man whom he had tried so desperately to save, and wound up losing his life in the process.

Elias still thought of that young man, Crisostomo Ibarra.

But now was not the time to linger, as Aning looked over his shoulder to face the  _multo_. And Elias tore his eyes away from the books.

Padre Florentino was already seated at the dining table. He looked at Aning with a friendly smile, while Aning made his way to the chair at Florentino’s side. Elias leaned on the backrest of one of the chairs, taking care not to pass through it like he normally did with inanimate objects. Florentino and Aning said a short prayer before tucking into their meal.

The three of them were silent, before Aning looked up at his uncle.

“ _Tio_  Florentino,” he said, “why were people staring at me this morning?”

The spoon froze midway to Florentino’s mouth, and the priest put it down, instead contemplating his answer. No doubt, Elias thought, Florentino just had the same thought as he did earlier.

“Aning, it’s nothing to worry about,” Padre Florentino told Aning.

Aning frowned. “That’s what Elias is telling me, too,” he muttered.

“What was that, Isagani?” Padre Florentino asked.

“Nothing,” Aning quickly lied. His uncle went back to eating his food, and Aning pouted. Florentino had a bite of food before he noticed the look on his nephew’s face.

“If there’s something you want to tell me, Isagani,” Padre Florentino said, “you can say it.”

“Why won’t you just tell me why the people at the church kept staring at me?” Aning asked. “Am I really not supposed to mind it?”

Aning expected some sort of retribution for voicing his opinion so expressly, like a scolding, or at least a pinch. But the look Florentino gave him was kind, though firm.

“Those people may think bad things about you and I,” Florentino said. “But since we know they are wrong, we should leave them to their own thoughts.”

Aning stared at him for a while, trying to comprehend what his uncle had told him.

“…But why would they think bad things about us?”

Florentino looked thoughtful for a while, trying to figure out how to reply.

“…Because you came so suddenly into my house,” he finally answered. Then he waved a hand, as if telling Aning to drop the topic.

Aning wanted to ask more, but upon seeing Florentino’s pensive face, decided to leave it alone.

Elias watched as the two of them ate in silence.

 

* * *

 

“Elias, if all people are going to do is stare at me,” Aning said as he lay in bed that night, “then I don’t want to stay here.”

Elias looked down at his ward, and pursed his lips. “You have to stay here, with your uncle,” he told Aning. “It’s the safest place for you right now.” He then crossed his arms. “And besides, your uncle is right when he says you shouldn’t mind the others. Who cares what they think?”

Aning shifted in his bed. He blinked, and then stared straight at Elias.

“…Did people ever stare at you when you were alive?” he asked.

Elias floated closer to Aning. “Maybe, when I was much younger,” he replied. “I do not remember. But it must have been strange, to be raised by my grandfather from birth.”

Aning stared at Elias – perhaps the sudden glimpse into Elias’s past had piqued his interest. Then he pulled one arm out from under his blanket, and placed it across his chest.

“So do you think it’s strange for me to live with my uncle?” Aning asked.

“Of course not.” Elias shook his head. “I lived with my grandfather, instead of with my parents, and nothing happened to me…” He trailed off. Maybe that was a lie, because something did in fact happen to him, but it happened when he was an adult, and Aning was still a child. So he decided to cut himself off.

Aning smiled. “Well, it’ll be alright, Elias,” the boy said. “ ‘Cause I got you.”

Though the air around him was cold, Elias started to feel a little warmth in his chest.

It was a warmth he hadn’t felt since he was alive.

 

* * *

 

For the next few days, Padre Florentino noticed that some women covered their faces with their fans when he walked by. He noticed that people abruptly stopped halfway through their conversations and couldn’t meet his eyes when he passed by their way.

Maybe he shouldn’t have hoped that they would understand. Some people were just born gossips, after all.

And it was nothing to worry about.


	8. Our Lot In Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sisa and Basilio encounter the hardships in Manila.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come now, you didn't think this fanfic was dead, did you?
> 
> There are some references to the sixth chapter of El Filibusterismo.
> 
> It's such a delight to finally write for this AU again after years!

The sound of a door slamming rang in Sisa's ears.

She winced, and then looked down at her boy Basilio, who was standing in front of said door. His face was pinched, as if he were about to cry. Then he stomped his foot on the ground and walked away, and Sisa could do little else but follow him.

“ _'Nay_ , this is so hard!” he cried. “Why don't people want to have me work for them?”

“Some are not as generous as others,” Sisa told him. “But there are truly good men in this world.”

“Why have I met more of the horrible people than the good people, then?” Basilio asked.

Sisa looked down sadly. Both she and her son knew the answer to that.

“Let's keep begging,” she told him. “We might open the hearts of one who will give you a place in the household.”

“Alright, _'Nay_ ,” he conceded, nodding.

She knew he didn't fully believe it, though. She knew with the wisdom of a mother.

 

* * *

 

As night fell, Basilio and Sisa found a place under a tree in the city, and Basilio laid down under it, with his mother hovering above him. He looked up at her, slightly luminous in the darkness of the evening.

“I don't know how long I can live off of fruits and begging,” he said.

“I know, _anak_ ,” she said, clasping her hands together. “But we just have to accept our fate.”

Basilio sighed. “It must be easy being a _multo_ ,” he said. “I haven't seen you eat or drink, and you don't seem to be bothered.”

Sisa looked down at herself, and shrugged. “I guess it is true,” she said. “But that only means there is more food for you.”

Basilio gave her a meaningful look.

“You should start thinking about yourself, _'Nay_ ,” he said. “Even if you are a _multo_.”

“I am your mother,” Sisa replied. “It is my lot in life to think more about you.”

“You say that, but...”

“You should sleep,” she told him. “We will have more food in the morning. I promise.”

Basilio nodded, tiredly. It seemed the weariness of having little food and begging all day had finally gotten to him. “Alright,” he said. “I will hope for food.”

She smiled. Then she held him and kissed him good night. When he shivered, however, she pulled back. Just as she did, he looked up at her.

“It's fine, _'Nay_ ,” Basilio told her. “I'm happy you're here.” And with that, he curled up and closed his eyes.

Sisa watched him until she was sure he was asleep, and then put a hand to her mouth.

Think about...herself? She hadn't remembered the last time she had concerned herself with her own welfare. Ever since...

Ever since...Pedro...

...Ever since then, she had only been concerned about her boys. She had only thought of how she could give them what they needed, how they would live on the meager expenses they had, how much she would sacrifice for them.

Now one of them was gone – she never found out where he went – and all she had left was Basilio.

Ought she really to think of herself? She didn't even have a corporeal form anymore. There wasn't much left of her to think about. And was she really alive at this point?

The confusing thoughts threatened to fill her mind, and she held her head, wondering what to do. She couldn't even breathe to calm down. And she couldn't calm down, until she took a look at her son again, sleeping peacefully beside her.

She couldn't think about herself. There wasn't much of her left to be concerned about, and Basilio was all that mattered. If she thought too much about anything else, she would go insane.

(...Not like she didn't have experience in that area.)

 

* * *

 

The next day, Basilio woke up to the sound of his mother's ghost singing a slow love song. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and smiled a little. His mother was a good singer, and showed it off sometimes. He yawned, however, and that caused Sisa to pause in her singing. She turned to him, and looked him over.

“Basilio?” she asked.

“I'm awake, _'Nay_ ,” he told her. He sat up, and then looked at her again. “What song was that?”

“Oh, I forgot the title,” she told him. “But it's a song about how one pines for their lover.”

Basilio nodded. Those were the kinds of songs his mother liked – the pining sort. But it had been so long since they had a conversation that didn't involve serious matters, and he was willing to humor it.

“Are you hungry? Tired?” Sisa began to ask.

“Not really,” Basilio said; and it was then that his stomach grumbled. She looked at him sternly.

“Basilio, _anak_ ,” she said, “don't lie to me about your hunger.”

“But if I let it get to me, then I won't be able to get a job or money from begging,” he reasoned. “I can stand to be away from food for a little longer if you can.”

Sisa looked concerned now. “Do as I say and not as I do,” she told him. “I let you have more food because you are still growing.”

Basilio nodded. “Well...I told you I would hope for food, right? So let's go.”

 

* * *

 

 

This day was a little better than the day before, in terms of the money received from begging. Sure, no one gave Basilio a job yet, but there were a little more generous people giving their money to him, and that made Sisa believe a little more in hope. She didn't mind at all if this would be the way they would live for a while, as long as her son was living.

(A little part of her did ache for more, but she didn't pay it any mind. She had to accept their lot in life.)

The morning went on with a bit of money gained, and Basilio used it to buy his first meal of the day (at Sisa's insistence), which was some _balut._ The vendor he bought the eggs from looked at him almost pitifully, but neither he nor Basilio said anything. So the _balut_ was eaten, and the money was spent.

It was in the afternoon, then, that Sisa and Basilio were feeling hopeful about their day. Sure, people were becoming less generous in the afternoon, but Sisa didn't feel like giving up. And she encouraged Basilio to do the same.

Basilio walked past a small building; it was likely an opium den, and he wrinkled his nose at the smell. Sisa could smell it too, but this time she smelled something else alongside it. It was horrible, and she would rather not think about it. If she had to give a name to it, she would say it smelled of death.

As Basilio passed by, he looked up, and he caught the eyes of a man and a woman walking together towards the opposite direction. His eyes widened, and he paused even as the two moved past him. Sisa paused alongside him, and looked down at him.

“Basilio?” she asked.

“ _'Nay_ , did you see them?” he asked, turning towards the two, who were now hailing a _kalesa_.

“No, why–?”

Sisa didn't even get a chance to finish before Basilio started going after them, just as they got into a _kalesa_ that had pulled over.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” he cried out, raising his hand. But he was ignored, and the driver snapped the reins, causing the _kalesa_ to move.

“Wait! Wait!”

He began to run after the _kalesa_ as it took off. Sisa stared on, a little stunned, until invisible strings tugged at her heart, and she was dragged after him.

The _kalesa_ moved faster and faster, and Basilio tried to keep up. He moved farther, and Sisa was then pulled out of the shade of the buildings, and into the sunlight. The rays of light started to burn her, and she couldn't help but scream out.

Basilio stopped and turned at the sound, and saw her writhing under the light. “ _'Nay_!” he called out. He ran back towards her, and the invisible strings on her heart loosened, so she could back away into the shade.

He slowed to a walk, and then stepped up to her. “Are you alright, _'Nay_?” he asked.

Sisa opened her eyes – she had squeezed them shut before in pain – and nodded. Basilio sighed in relief, and then turned back towards the road, but by now the _kalesa_ was long gone. He stared at the road for a few moments, and then turned back to his mother.

“That man was Don Santiago de los Santos,” he said. “He's a rich man who has a house in San Diego! Maybe I can offer him my service!”

Sisa's eyes widened, and then she clasped her hands. “That's wonderful!” she exclaimed. “May God bless you, _anak_. This is your chance!”

 


End file.
